


malfunction

by TheEvilHina



Series: little light [1]
Category: Destiny (Video Games), Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-28 08:30:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16237907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheEvilHina/pseuds/TheEvilHina
Summary: You were a malfunction, a failure in the eyes of other Ghosts. You’ve been around for a very long time.





	malfunction

You were a malfunction, a failure in the eyes of other Ghosts. You had no Guardian. Most days you searched and others you floated aimlessly through the City, fluttering around like an injured bird. You’ve been around for a very long time.

They call you The Glitch; fitting since you can’t speak a sentence without stuttering and leaking light all over the place. The Speaker tried to fix you, once upon a time. He didn’t help, obviously. You are away, more than you’re home, though it’s never felt like it. You were a Glitch, never meant to be there, never meant to stay.

It was on Mars that you found him. Your Guardian, after centuries you are together. And you fuck it up. You remember Ghosts talking about meeting their Guardians, tales of completion, the final puzzle piece locking together. That’s what it was, but you were a glitch and so was your Guardian. 

You found him in the rusted wreckage of a vehicle unearth by the winds of a sandstorm you were hiding from. He doesn’t come back...right. He’s missing his right arm and leg, jagged scarred stumps all that remained. You are in the desert in the middle of one of the most inhospitable planets imaginable and your Guardian is half a Guardian. 

His name is Jamison Fawkes, and you love him almost immediately. He’s an Awoken; tall, blonde, pale and thin, with fiery orange eyes. All of which don’t help much now. He chitters almost endlessly, not really saying anything. He twitches and crawls across the sand dunes, sinking into the sand beneath his fingers as they shifted in the breeze. He dies again after two days of endless sun and crawling, you bring him back gasping and dry heaving. 

It takes three more days and another resurrection before you find civilization. Cabal, just what you needed. He surprises you, stealing a gun and killing all who stand in your way, with only a wall to support him. You both steal a ship, leaving behind a burning wreckage. He’s a Warlock, you find, and quite fond of Solar energy. If the cackling as his enemies burned alive means anything.

You take him to the City, to the Tower and the Vanguard. You regret it immediately. 

Mercy, with all her endless kindness and compassion, is overbearing. She’s smothers her new Warlock with concern and quietly whispers her doubts to Amari. Morrison is all business, clipped sentences and commands, trying to control the chaos that Fawkes radiated constantly. It’s Amari who convinces them to accept a mission after they fit your Guardian with metal limbs. To give it a chance, a chance at a life among their kin. 

You try, both of you do. It’s a success, but not they way they want it. You were told to get data, get out. What you do is get the data and obliterate everything around you; leaving a trail of carnage in your wake. It’s fun, something you haven’t had in a very long time and Morrison’s disappointment isn’t enough to kill the high. 

They give you more chances, more missions, but it always ends the same. Objective taken care of and smoking corpses left behind. The chance of collateral damage is too high, Morrison preaches, in and out quietly, he begs. Where’s the fun in that? 

It happens on mission number five. A civilian caught in the crossfire and Morrison is furious. You don’t feel any guilt, civilians had never been kind to you. Civilians had taken turns throwing rocks at your fluttering frame. No Guardian had step in then and none step in now. 

Then, Fawkes did the unexpected. He blew the meeting table up. A grenade dropped upon the floor, everyone too focused on Morrison’s tirade to notice the clattering below. Jamison sprang back at the last second, grabbing you and sprinting as fast as he could. Alarms sounded across the base and Guardians spilled down the stairs past Fawkes; not yet realizing he’d caused the explosion. 

In the confusion, you both escaped. You’d stolen another ship and broke the atmosphere before they could chase you. Fawkes chittered about the endless possibilities of space; they didn’t need to be told what to do. They didn’t need some old fart ordering them around. 

And you agreed. You weren’t just a Glitch anymore, a malfunction. You didn’t need the Guardians to do what you were made to do. All you needed was Fawkes and all he needed was you.

**Author's Note:**

> Me and my friend Law came up with this while I was playing Destiny.


End file.
